Clandestine Dreams
by Dying.Rain
Summary: Under the oppressive reign of her once friend, Hermione finds herself imprisoned, coming head to head with a former enemy and making surprising alliances. Dark!LordHarry /Dramione/ & /Harry x. Hermione/
1. Chapter 1: Immoral Influence

Chapter 1: Immoral Influence

* * *

_"The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently." - Friedrich Nietzshe_

**_-X-_**

_**H****er **_once ridiculously bushy hair had condensed into a matted mess, her clothes were reduced to rags, and there were cuts and bruises all over her thin frame. She shivered furiously, only a fragrant of the girl she had used to be; somewhere inside her was still brilliance locked away, but what remained externally was a thin, luminescent shell that dulled in the light.

"You." What was once a friendly, gentle voice had changed in something horrible, a voice forced to be cruel and immoral. Hermione looked at Ginny and was forced to stare at what the war had done to them- all of them.

"This isn't right, Ginny," Hermione murmured hoarsely, trying to meet her former somewhat friend's eyes. For a brief moment, Hermione could see the flicker of sorrow before being replaced with a harsh, reptilian glare.

"Submit to Him," Ginny commanded. Weakly, Hermione shook her head. _No_, she said silently, because this was a future she had never to have imagined.

"I can't," Hermione whispered slowly. "You know I can't."

Ginny's eyes narrowed in disapproval, in the way that all His servants had been trained to do so in front of the _enemies_. But after a while her eyes softened. Ginny whispered softly. "I'm sorry about that." And than, as if suddenly possessed she snapped right back into that stern and strange figure. "Take the subject to its cell."

Hermione's eyes shut as a guard grabbed her arm and dragged her into her prison, only opening when she heard the barred doors slam close. Weakly crawling into the corner of the cell, she buried her head into her hands in an attempt to hide her tears. "Shit, shit, shit," she whispered in an anxious, angry hiss. What had become of the Harry Potter she thought she knew? How could he do this to them all?

"… Granger?"

Her head turned in surprise, to the oddly familiar voice. "Y-you…" she sputtered out in disbelief. This drew some stares from the other wary prisoners, forcing Hermione to calm down.

"How eloquent, Granger. And I had thought you were the smart one." It was, without a doubt, despite the bruises, scars, and ragged clothing, the one and only Draco Malfoy. The same boy who had caused her so much pain in her school years was sitting in the next sell, awaiting the same fate, captured by the same man.

"B-but, why? W-why are you here?" She said this in a hushed whisper, so that she might not cause a scene again, but she had no need to worry. The last thing other prisoners were worried about was the concern of another girl falling into insanity.

"I could ask the same for you," Draco said. Despite the circumstances, he spoke in a quiet, calm voice as if his emotions were completely controlled, and seemed nowhere as distressed as Hermione. She stared at him in wide-eyed curiosity and snaked her fingers between the bars and lightly laid one hand on the shoulder of Draco, as if testing to see if he was just a figment of her imagination. One brow rose slightly above the other, and he lightly brushed off her hand as if dusting off a pesky bug. "What was that for, Granger?"

"I… I just wanted to make sure you were real," she replied, still shocked to see him.

"You still haven't answered my question, you know. Why are you even here?"

Hermione cautiously studied Malfoy, as if suspecting him of some sort of high espionage.

"Hello? Granger, have you lost the ability to speak as well?" He waved one hand in front of her face to catch her attention, and Hermione snapped back into reality.

"No, Malfoy," she said, in a vigor she had not used for months, not since Harry had taken over. "And I suppose you haven't changed either- rude as ever." It felt good to revert back to some sort of the spirit she had before. He snickered.

"There we go. There's the Hermione Granger we all hated. Are you feeling well enough to answer the damn question know?"

"I… Look, Malfoy, why do you _think_ I am here?"

"Perhaps Potter sent you to spy. You'd be a good one, Granger. In actuality, you're rather cunning. You'd have made a decent Slytherin. More proof that the sorting hat was fucking barmy that year. Potter should have been a Slytherin, no doubt about it."

"I'll overlook that random rant and let you know that no, _I _am not a spy and he didn't send me. I am, regrettably, in the same precise situation I assume you are in."

"Elaborate, Granger. What situation did you exactly assume I am?"

Hermione leaned against the concrete wall, taking a deep sigh before speaking. "From the looks of it, I can safely assume that we are in some sort of prison, behind bars, away from freedom… because of…"

"Potter," Malfoy finished for her, spitting out Harry's name like it was made of poison. Hermione groaned in frustration, turning to her companion.

"Why, Malfoy? Why is he like this?" Hermione asked, as if begging for an answer.

"He's your friend, Granger. You're supposed to know him better," Malfoy said snidely, not helping ease Hermione's frustrations.

"Was, Malfoy. Harry," she choked out his name. "… _was_ my friend. But not anymore. Not after all he's done. I just don't understand… how this could have even happened."

Malfoy's thin lips grimly curled up. His eyes seemed bitter under the dim glow of the candled lights. "Because, Granger," he said. "Everyone can be corrupted."

* * *

_"… To influence a person is to give him one's own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of someone else's music, an actor of a part that has been written for him…" –Oscar Wilde, A Picture of Dorian Gray_

**_-X-_**

**The** days quickly fell into a routine. Hermione and the rest of the prisoners were roughly jostled awake by a guard and sentenced to hard labor, doing work that no one needed to be done. They were constructing a building made from their blood, a building that could easy constructed via magic. But this privilege was taken away for them. Magic was only for those how obeyed. Hermione's job was to cement the blocks, seemling the easiest one, but a job that still drove her mad. Her mental astuteness was trapped inside, begging to be used, begging to read or solve a problem or cast a difficult spell. Instead she did the job of a factory worker, and the repetitious job was monotonous and mentally frustrated.

They were given only a short fifteen minute break to eat some bread and cold soup before continuing their work, until the sky grew dark. Dinner was slightly larger- more bread, more soup, and a small piece of meat if they were lucky. Nighttime was their free time; some prisoners choose this time to attempt to stay sane by socializing, but most stayed drawn away and quiet. Hermione was one of these.

She generally stayed away from her neighboring prisoner, still holding on to her age-old house prejudices and unpleasant memories of the ever rude, ever-pretentious Draco Malfoy. Though it seemed like months since she was finally brought here, she knew that it was only a few days, and recalled the days prior to her capture, where she hide from His regime like she hide from Voldemort's. She remembered the exuberance she felt when Harry finally defeated that horrid man, and the equally emotional dismay when she learned of what Harry decided to become.

What had made the boy-who-lived decide to become such a terrible man? He had replaced Voldemort; he had become the new Dark Lord, only he had nothing against muggles and muggleborns. Unlike his predecessor, he didn't even pretend to have any interest in persecuting any one group of people- except for those who disobeyed. What had made him make such a drastic decision? Had killing Voldemort made him feel such invincible power that he decided he wanted more? Or perhaps it was Draco's reasoning that was the truth. Perhaps Harry _had_ fallen prey to corruption, to the influence of Voldemort. Had his soul been changed? Had his mind bended? If so, was it really to the doing of Voldemort? How could one man have so much power over another? Or was this choice something Harry had done on his own accord? Perhaps this darker side had been hidden inside for all that time, just like Tom Riddle's, and no one, not even Dumbledore had picked up upon it?

No, Hermione decided firmly. There was simply no way Harry could do such a thing. She refused to believe that her beloved raven-headed, green-eyed friend could be so deceptive, so corruptive as to use her, use all of them. She remembered his words of kindness, his proclamations of his belief in love, his wonderful ideology that clashed directly with Voldemort's. Despite all his misdeeds against her, Hermione simply couldn't bring herself to blame him, couldn't bring herself to think ill of him. She hated what he _did_, but it was impossible for her to hate Harry. One day, in desperation to fill in her loneliness, she attempted to explain this to Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she murmured. Her lips quivered in the cold, and she slowly inched her body towards the place where they shared a conjoined wall of metal bars.

"Finally thought it would be nice to be social, Granger?"

Hermione frowned at this insult. "Actually, I waited until I was desperate enough to," she said. She meant for it be an insult towards Malfoy, but it was rather true.

"Don't think Harry-fucking-Potter is so great anymore, right Granger?"

"I-"

"Is that hesitation? Because if it is, you're an idiot, and you deserve to be here."

"It's not his fault, Malfoy. I can't blame him. It's impossible to hate Harry-"

"You really are an idiot, Granger. I can't believe you are saying this," Malfoy said, cutting her off harshly. "If you love him so much, you should have just kissed his filthy robes and joined him."

"I can't, Malfoy," Hermione said. "What he is doing is wrong… Which makes me wonder why you are here? You're a little ferret, so I'd assume you'd just kiss up to him and 'obey', just like you did with your _'Dark Lord'._" Hermione regretted these words after she said them, but they had exited her mouth; it was too late to take them back.

Malfoy glared at Hermione, who only looked slightly better from when she first came in. "Don't presume you know me, Granger."

His lips were in a scowl, and for the first time Hermione looked at him. Prior to that moment, she had avoided looking at him, out of fear of what she'd see. There he was, paler than he was even before. His gray eyes still held that coolness to them, and there was the slight bits of green on him, the old remnants of his Slytherin robes. The scowl on his face reminded her of the Draco from previous years, and his white blond hair was messy and uncombed, a far cry from the perfectly groomed boy she had met years ago. Yet he had matured into a rather rugged (given the circumstances), but handsome young man. His voice had deepened, his shoulders broadened, and he had grown taller. Malfoy was Malfoy, an unchangeable, unmovable thing. Yet what Hermione remembered of him had.

"I'm sorry," Hermione finally said. It was hard for her to say that, to bit back on her pride, but she was afraid of losing the only companion who would speak to her. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed. "You shouldn't have."

They were quiet at them. Hermione felt oddly at peace, sitting there in the bleak prison cell. Then, she heard the movement of doors. The guards always "wished" them goodnight before blowing out the candles, but they had just finished dinner, and it was far too soon for the tucking in ceremony.

She heard the clacking footsteps roaring like thunder in her ears against the cool ground. Finally, before her stood the solemn, apologetic looking Ginny Weasley. "Granger. The Lord wishes to see you," she said. But Ginny's eyes said something else. Undeniably etched within her brown eyes, Hermione read the words:

_I'm sorry. _

* * *

**a/n- the start of a the first Harry Potter FF I've ever posted online. Feedback appreciated.**

**review jar is below. **

**:) **


	2. Chapter 2: The Choice

Chapter 2: The Choice

* * *

...

(-_d_-**e**-_c_-**i**-_s_-**i**-_o_-**n**-)

...

_The choices offered_

_Are a shade of gray_

_There is no black_

_There is no white_

_When the choice_

_Is offered,_

_There is no need_

_For an answer._

**_.xx._**

_**Their**_ footsteps echoed on the ground as they snaked through the narrow hallway like they were navigating through a maze. The chains on her feet had made Hermione sluggish, and the thick black cloth tied over her eyes had made her blind. She felt as if she were being lead through nothing, treading on a pathway to a place called nowhere. Finally, Ginny stopped walking, and so Hermione did too. The blindfold was swiftly removed, and Hermione found herself in front of a set of large, familiar doors that were worn with age.

"Hogwarts?" Hermione murmured to Ginny, forgetting for a moment that they were no longer friends. The red-haired girl's eyes widened in her alarm, and her eyes darted across the walls, as if to make sure no ears were secretly nailed into the walls. Finally, Ginny placed her pointer finger to her lips, a silent way of telling someone to be silent. Hermione stayed quiet because of her own anxiety; her stomach curled in anticipation, her fingers were clammy, and her worry had begun to cloud her judgment. Ginny shot Hermione one final apologetic glance before opening the large doors.

The doors opened like a book. Slowly, inch-by-inch, the details of the room were unrevealed. It was the Great Hall, but the tables were eerily empty, as if unseen ghosts had taken the place of students. Out of sheer curiosity, she took a step further into the room and heard the door shut tensely behind her. The candles offered only the slightest bit of light, but in the other side of the large room, she saw the slender silhouette of a man whose green eyes seemed to glow, to prosper and shine in the lack of light. He sat where Dumbledore had used to sit, on the raised platform.

"Harry," she breathed out inaudibly. Her lips had not moved even slightly and yet she was sure he must have heard her. He simply seemed to have had that control of everything in the room. He simply seemed to have control of everything.

Something within her propelled her to walk forward. She moved slowly, and the chains followed her soon behind, clinking together as it draggled across the floor. The closer she was to him, the more she felt his gaze radiating off of her, the first time her beloved Harry Potter had made her feel truly uncomfortable.

"Harry," she repeated again, not sure of the punishment in store for not referring to him as some formal title. Still, he made no move yet. His gaze did not shift, and just as he studied her, Hermione couldn't stop staring at him. This man, this creature with those cold serpent eyes could not have been, was not Harry. He was dressed in all-black robes, and had abandoned those spectacles that Hermione had cleaned for him the day they met. With it, it seemed as if he had shredded all his innocence.

He did not speak for the longest time. Surely, he was looking at how different Hermione looked, with rags for clothes and bones for skin. Her eyes had sunken into her face and she felt terribly small and frail in front of him, for the power she sensed radiating off of him seemed endless and unlimited.

Her knees trembled. They felt as if they were too flimsy to hold her body up, and soon enough, her body crumpled to the ground, looking like a pile of ash, ready to be blown eye.

The was when he finally spoke.

"Hermione," he murmured, and she shuddered at his voice. It sounded like Harry's, but it couldn't have belonged to him. It was far too seductive, far too dark to have been. Lightly, he cupped her left check with his hand, sending a jolt of electricity through her at the sudden sensation of his cold skin on her cheek. His lips curled into an amused grin, underlying sadism peaking through. "It doesn't have to be this way. There is another way…"

The words sounded like lies. The choice he promised her felt like a lie too. And yet for some reason, they felt tempting. They swayed her, and in that moment she felt like she was made of nothing. It was as if she was empty, waiting for someone else's brilliance to fill her up, to make her something. The answer ready to flow out of her mouth was _yes_; the answer in her mind was something completely different. She blinked several times, remembering what he had done to the world- remembering that the man in front of her was not the Harry she thought she had known.

"No," she whispered, hoarse and dry and weak.

She watched his eyes narrow dangerously, his emotion dangerously controlled. Finally, he murmured in a cool, calm voice a curse she had heard him only attempt once before-

"Crucio."

The curse came as a shock. She gave into the pain, letting a high-pitched scream that offered no relief to the pain that seemed everlasting. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. The magic coursed through her body like wood catching fire. Her veins were ready to burst and she felt his anger in her mind and body. Finally, the pain resided, leaving Hermione crumpled on the floor, though there was still the sensation that her limbs were twisted the wrong way. After wards, it wasn't the spell that destroyed her, but the thought behind them.

Harry remained expressionless. His eyes were still green, but they reminded her more of something coal black. She wanted to reach into him and find some tangible piece of the old 'Harry' she once knew. Instead, she could only see cruelty in those lips' curl and sadism in the glint of his eyes.

"There are consequences to your decisions, Hermione. Remember that."

She had curled into a ball as he waved his wand and summoned Ginny. Seeing this man who looked like Harry and talked like Harry but was not Harry had hurt her more than the spell itself. Ginny arrived again, looking stern but scared. "Isolation," Harry ordered as Hermione let out a smothered sob- her attempt at keeping her cries quiet.

As Ginny lead her out of the room, Hermione looked back at him, wondering if he ever knew how much she had loved him.

...

...

(-_c-_**h**-_a-_**n**-_g_-**e**-)

...

_Look in my eyes  
You're killing me, killing me  
All I wanted was you_

_Come, break me down  
Break me down  
Break me down_

_What if I wanted to break?  
What if I, what if I, what if I  
Bury me, bury me_

_-The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars_

_**.XX. **  
_

_**Draco **_Malfoy had not seen Hermione for what seemed like weeks, until one day he heard the cool clicking of the She-Weasels shoes. Emerging from the dark was a timid and trembling Hermione Granger, supported as she trailed weakly into her cell, looking less and less like the spitfire girl who had transformed him into a ferret that one year.

The moment She-Weasel left, she had slumped against the wall, the farthest away she could possibly be from Draco Malfoy, and preceded to curl into a ball with her hair covering her face. She was shivering, although it wasn't really all that cold, and looked like she was made of dust, ready to disperse into the air at any given moment.

"Granger?" Draco called out cautiously.

She didn't answer. He noted how tired she looked; there were bags underneath her eyes and she seemed to have been possessed by death itself. Had something kept her awake at night? She looked restless, almost like a mere figment of his imagination, for she seemed more like a walking skeleton than a human girl.

What had Potter done to her? When the She-Weasel left with a very scared, but still very courageous (albeit somewhat foolish) Gryffindor Hermione, he had not imagined that she'd come back appearing to looked like a bundle of skin, bones, and anxiety. In fact, he had not expected her to return at all. He had been sure that she'd have given up her fight to be "morally correct" and join Potter. The disparity between the bleak prison life and Harry Potter's offer of comfort had convinced Draco that Hermione would not return to her cell. She was part of the Golden Trio, and so surely Harry would have had some sort of mercy upon her.

But from the looks of the skeletal girl, he doubted his initial assumption. There were the tell tale signs of a crucio curse casting on her from all that shaking and her deformed posture. Draco only remembered returning to his room in the same manner, baring the consequences for his father, who was only too lucky to remain in Azkaban, safe from those horrible crucio sessions.

What's more, Granger was eerily silent. Since first year, Draco had realized how talkative the girl was. She would _not_ shut up, always showing off her knowledge of who-knows what, and proving some absurd point that no one really cared about (like that stupid SPEW thing). It was terribly unlike of her to be quiet. He barely knew her, and he knew that.

"Hey, Granger, you alright?"

"I'd see she's real fucked up, yeah," snickered Goyle. Malfoy shot him a glare, causing for a look of confusion on Goyle's face.

"What?" Goyle asked. "The mudblood finally got what she deserved." There was no obvious response coming from Hermione, so Goyle continued. "She really just got-"

"Fuck off, Goyle," Malfoy said.

"What?" Crabbe shot back, defending his friend. Malfoy's two lackey's had remained relatively silent, only once commenting on the presence of Hermione before she had been taken away. After all, she had only been in the cell for a brief while before being taken away to presumably see Potter. But now that she was back, they offered no mercy to her obviously despondent condition. "You growing soft for mudbloods?"

Malfoy scowled. "Unlike you two, I'm not concerned about the matters of _blood_, right now. It seems like a petty thing while we are dealing with much _greater_ details." He waited for the two to catch on, but there was still that quizzical expression on both of their faces. Malfoy sighed, wondering why he had chosen such idiots as lackeys before realizing idiots followed orders easily. Maybe that's why Potter had chosen the She-Weasel to carry out his dirty work. "Look," Malfoy said. "I care more about why Potter didn't decide to stay like a good-little Gryffinder, more than I am about a fellow prisoner's blood status."

Crabbe and Goyle scowled and turned away, obviously unhappy by this new change in their "boss", but decided to remain quiet. It was true though, what Malfoy had said. He had stopped caring about blood for a long time. Voldemort himself probably didn't give a crap about it either; he just needed a group of angry _idiots_ to do his work, and they fell for it. They all did.

So what would Harry Potter's vehicle be?

A couple feet a way for him, Hermione's head slowly lifted up, and her brown eyes blinked at the light. "Did you really mean that?" she said in a hoarse whisper. Her voice seemed strained, like she had been yelling previously for along time.

"Yes, Granger," Malfoy muttered with a sneer. Then, he remembered her fragile condition, and tried to soften his expression. "I did." He was hoping she'd tell him more about what happened, but to his disappointment her eyes searched the prison for a brief second and she returned to her solitary, fetal position.

_This is Hermione Granger_, Draco thought. _This is Hermione Granger, broken down. _

_..._

_...  
_

(-_d_-**r**-_e_-**a**-_m_-)

...

_I close my eyes and pray  
For the garish light of day  
Like a frightened child I run  
From the sleep that never comes_

_(~4 o'clock by Emilie Autumn)_

_**.XX. **  
_

**_He_** haunted her that night.

As she lay awake on the single cot in her dank prison cell, in the middle of the dark night, she replayed every sense she recalled from his visits. He had seen her almost everyday, and barely ever touching her. All he ever used was magic and his voice, but it was enough for him to sink into her skin. At first, she wanted a bath, a shower, something to get rid of the feel of his magic inside of her. But at the end, she longed for his presence. During the day, she was forced to lock herself inside her mind to stay sane, reciting lessons, solving problems.

And now, in complete darkness, her eyes were still wide open, as if she could see him in the ceiling. In a way she did. She saw his face and couldn't breathe. The thought of him using her, manipulating her manifested into a growing hole inside of her. Something had gone wrong. Somehow, Hermione miscalculated her steps; misread a boy she thought was only full of good.

Green eyes filled her vision. Harry Potter was all she thought of- the boy who lived and the boy who had killed. Sometimes she tried to think of nothing, but in the end she thought of nothing but him. There was such darkness in his magic, and a hollow edge in his voice. She wanted to be close to him, to this was the boy- no man, whose name drew fear, whose words were pure seduction, and whose power seemed unending. There were the images of how he saw through her, as if she were translucent, made of clear plastic. Sometimes, she'd remember the terrible sensation of cruciatus curse, the most terrible physical pain, and how he'd end their sessions with mental pain. He made the memories flash before her eyes. He showed her how he killed; he showed her power, a power she had been tempted to take in her hands, if only for a while- just to be close to him. Just to feel him.

His magic had overwhelmed her. It was stronger than her, stronger than anything she knew. It had filled the air; it had filled the empty crevices of her soul. Pure magic. Pure power. She had felt smothered by it, and at the same she had wanted more. The sensation of it all was intoxicating. She had felt dizzy and light-headed in response. Her lips parted, her brown eyes blinked rapidly. The power had invaded her mind, unlocked the doors she kept shut, revealed the darker sides of her, the part that was meant to stay hidden.

He was seduction.

Corruption.

Appealing to the sin of fulfillment and self-indulgence: the decadence of power. He had offered her the immoral, the true essence of the dark arts. And she had wanted more power, more magic to make her fill content, to make her feel real. It tasted rich like an impossible dream, and it was addicting. She remembered the feeling and she couldn't get it out of the mind.

Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind as Hermione remembered the way she was so near the magic that it was as if she were a part of it. She couldn't sleep, couldn't submit to it. No longer was sleep a relief. Rather, it was an invitation to more nightmares, more visions of him.

Visions of power.

It was dangerous, ruining her, damaging her, tainting her. There was the side of her that fell in love with the taste of poison and wanted more.

* * *

**a/n- so, yeah, second chapter is up! i'm starting to like writing dark harry. he's been growing on me. i didn't really like him at first. oh, and i'm trying cut back on using semicolons but it's really hard. i love them so much... so yeah, reviews are really appreciated, and let me know if you guys have any suggestions or anything.**

**review jar is below. **

**:)  
**


	3. Chapter 3: Stones

Chapter 1: Stones

* * *

_Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy. – Sigmund Freud_

**...**

(-_n_**-i-**_g_-**h**_**-**t-_**m**-_a_-**r-**_e_-)

**...  
**

She was Hermione Granger, but she was not the girl she was now. She was the girl she had been, tracing the steps of her ghost that no longer existed. There she saw the hints of happiness, the dreams of yesterday. She was happy and she wanted nothing. She was happy and her yesterday dreams of tomorrow were going to come true.

She was Hermione Granger, but not the girl she was then. She was the girl she was now.

That was when she woke.

The dream had no longer been enjoyable.

**(.XX.)**

_But though lean Hunger and green Thirst_  
_Like asp with adder fight,_  
_We have little care of prison fare,_  
_For what chills and kills outright_  
_Is that every stone one lifts by day_  
_Becomes one's heart by night._

_-Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol_

...

(-_h_-**e**-_a_-**r-**_t_-)

...

Discordant, chaotic, never ending.

The crash that awoke her had jolted her body awake. Every nerve was stimulated, every joint was ready to twitch and move as the puppeteer instructed. The dream was gone, and she had to remind herself of this.

The past was gone.

Her life was thrown into a cacophony of howls, the steps on the ground of prisoners leaving thundered in her head. Her brain spun; her mind reeled. Pure noise. She cringed at the voices, at the horrible music raining her head. _No more, no more_, she thought at the rapid sounds. Her heart was running fast again, ready to beat outside of her skeleton, out of her chest. It was louder than everything else, a constant low bass that clashed with the world outside of her cell.

"Hurry it up, Granger," the uniformed man in front of her muttered harshly.

More noise. More voices. She clamped her ears shut and heard screaming. Screaming. Was that her? No, it couldn't have been. Her mouth was still shut, and she hadn't moved on an inch. Everything was wrong. Nothing was right. The room spun in her head; everything become even worse, a symphony of insanity, a never-ending nightmare.

"… Granger?" Another voice, but not a noise. Everything else in the room died down into white noise, blurred into the background. She could still hear it, but it no longer bothered her as she turned to the only voice that didn't sound like screeching to her ears. He had blocked the noise. He had made it go away.

At this thought, her lips curled into a smile with a dazed look on her blushing face. Was that her name? She believed so. "Hmmm…" she murmured, as if in thought, while still retaining an effortless blank look on her face.

"We have to get up to work," he said dryly. She tried to recall his name. Malfoy, she remembered on her first try. At her dreamy look, Malfoy frowned. "Snap out of it, Granger," he said harshly. It was sounded like noise and then everything was no longer white noise or loud noise. She snapped out of her daze like he had turned an "on" switch. The remnants of the insanity died away.

"Malfoy?" she murmured, barely remembering how she had woken. It had felt as if she had been awake for a while now, but she couldn't remember when. The sense of not knowing had made her feel uneasy and vulnerable. Malfoy stared expectantly at her, waiting for her to say something. "What…? How…?" She remembered something about the noise, but the rest was a blur.

Malfoy sighed. "You were acting strange," he said simply, as if that could explain everything. In truth, she had been acting strange since she had come back to her cell yesterday, but before her peculiar behavior seemed to be normal for someone who had been crucio-ed and betrayed by her once best friend. Now her behavior seemed out of place; in fact- it was just rather loony.

"Oh…" Hermione thought, shuddering at the idea of her falling into the grasps of insanity. There was no doubt by anyone that it would be a waste, to have such a brilliant mind become incompetent. Did Potter realize that there was far more to torture than physical pain? Malfoy pondered this, as Hermione quickly got ready, vigorously running her toothbrush over her teeth. They were ready together, and the guards opened the cell, glaring at the two.

"You two are late," he grumbled moodily. He was years older than them; one of the wizards who had swung to whichever side was in power. "And you're just fucking insane," he said pointedly to Hermione. "As for you," he said, staring at Malfoy. "It's cute that you want to stay and be little lovebirds, but I don't have the time or patience for god- damn- _games_."

The guard didn't wait for them to respond our defend themselves or deny any sort of positive emotions that they felt towards each other. He pushed the two down the winding halls all the way to the yard where they were to do their labor. Malfoy contemplated on the injustice of Potter letting a frail and unstable Hermione do more work, while Hermione silently started her job. Today, she was to move the rocks- just as mentally depressing as her old task of cementing the blocks of rock together. However, this time it was far more physically challenging. Just as her mind yearned for more mental activity, her body craved for rest.

Her body was still feeling the after effects of the cruciatus curse that He had muttered upon her. She had learnt that physically, it wasn't supposed to harm her, but her body still remembered the pain and she shuddered subtly. What's worse, Malfoy kept on throwing her these uncharacteristic worried glances that seemed terribly unlike him. Hermione didn't trust him, and he probably didn't trust her either, but while she was in such a weak state, he probably thought he could manipulate her condition. This thought made Hermione very dissatisfied.

The only way to not scream in anger of such mentally degrading activity, Hermione escaped into the depths of her mind. Perhaps this is the best way to become ill. Perhaps in order to truly fall into the pits of insanity, one must recede into their minds and find comfort in the remnants of their memories.

This was the way Hermione escaped.

In the beginning of the day, they had been given a container of lukewarm water, which wasn't satisfactory, but was enough to quench the thirst of a man's throat.

Hermione, like others, finished their galloon of water, and by the middle of the day had nothing to drink. Refills weren't offered, and her throat burned as her body flushed in the sunlight. Her lips were chapped and blistered; her body was weaker than even before. After she lifted what seemed to be the millionth stone, the world around her spun dangerously. In her vision she saw doubles. She saw two Malfoy's, their images lucent and thin. She dropped the stone, and in the background, it pounded against the ground.

She watched the world before her close before her eyes-

-and turn black.

**(.XX.)**

_the world,_

_in our hands,_

_the dream,_

_in our minds._

_I am who you think I am._

_..._

(_-p-_**a-**_g-_**e-**_s-_)

_...  
_

_"Granger, get up_."

The voice was unwelcoming and intruding, pounding into Hermione's skull mercilessly. She struggled to force her heavy eyelids to lift up as she slowly managed to sit up. Her head was heavy and everywhere she felt excruciating pain. It ripped through her body as she coughed into her hands. Blood splattered on the palm of her hand, dripped down her chin, and sunk into the ground.

"Granger," that unwelcome voice repeated, but this time it was slightly nervous. Hermione moaned in the pain that reeled in her head. She collapsed to the floor again, heavily fighting for air. Her lungs felt like they were closing in.

"H-h…" she opened her mouth to speak, but she felt it hurt just to speak. The guard glanced about nervously.

"Get Weasley," he ordered crossly to another guard. Hermione shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"H-harry," she managed to gasp out. The guard's eyes widened slightly, in surprise. But her eyes had this pleading look in them that showed she was serious. The guard signaled to another guard to bring Him, despite everyone's restless anxiety at the prospect of being in His presence. Just moment's later, Ginny appeared, her face filled with worry.

"Hermione," she cried out sadly, dropped any pretenses of cold superiority. Ginny knelt down, trying to catch her former friend's eyes, but Hermione looked away.

"H-harry," she repeated, and distances away, Draco felt dismay and confusion over the idea of Hermione wanted to see a man who had been the cause of her pain. Ginny had a different reaction. Her face contorted into fear.

"Hermione, you mustn't, I beg you-"

But it was too late for Ginny's pleas. Harry Potter walked into the yard, wearing a black dark robe. His green eyes were filled with an unreadable emotion as the guards backed away 10 feet. Ginny followed, leaving Hermione and him in the center of the yard.

Hermione looked at Harry Potter, her eyes searching for something, for him to understand. "Poison," she croaked, knowing that even with his humanity gone, he'd still understand her. His eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding angry at the prospect of her being poisoned. She moved her lips and said words in a whisper that only he could hear. "Half-blood prince, page 196."

And with that, the pages of her world closed for a second time.

* * *

a/n- Yeah, this chapter is short… I'm getting more and more block from those horrible writing gods. And know I am going to study, like I should be doing right this moment. By the way, if you're confused over a specific part, let me know in a message/review so I can clear it up in the next chapter. My friend told me she was confused over the last part of the chapter, which was basically just a description of her dreaming and thinking. I'm not too fond of doing a really descriptive dream scene, so I just used to further write out what Hermione was feeling. When I feel up to it, I'm going to go through this whole story and edit it, but right now, I just need to write. I'm kind of doing this like NaNoWriMo, but breaking a few rules, because I'm just going to count in all words I write since I don't have too much time/ inspiration to concentrate on one story. Later, I'll go back to edit.

Woah. Long author's note. I don't think anyone read that. Anyways, thanks for reading.

~D. R.

* * *

**the review jar is below!**


End file.
